The Witches of Cambridge (30 page)

Sylvia eyes Amandine suspiciously. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He does. I promise. I can tell.”

Sylvia squints. “How do you know?”

Amandine smiles. “It’s one of my gifts.”

—

“That was delicious,” Héloïse says. “Thank you.”

They sit on the sofa in Theo’s living room after a dinner of coq au vin. A cafetière of coffee and a plate of dark chocolates sit on the table in front of them. Héloïse wonders what will happen after coffee. They’ve been on three more dates—to the cinema, to the park, and to Gustare—since the posh restaurant. They still haven’t kissed and, now that she’s sure it’s about to happen tonight, she’s ever so slightly scared. How will it be? How will she feel? How would François feel?

“You’re very welcome,” Theo says. “And cooking isn’t even my specialty.”

A little shiver runs through Héloïse. Is he suggesting sex? She hopes not; she really isn’t ready for that. A kiss, perhaps, but nothing more than that. Not yet. But she can’t be certain that’s what he means anyway. There was no flirtation with François; they were always totally transparent and matter-of-fact in their affections, going straight from meeting to falling in love, marriage, and parenthood. This is a whole new world and Héloïse is absolutely out of her depth.

Theo pours the coffee into two cups.

“Milk? Sugar? Neither? Both?”

“Red wine.”

Theo laughs. “Okay.”

He stands, leaves the living room, and returns a few minutes later with two large glasses of red wine. Héloïse takes a big gulp of hers. If this evening is going to develop in any sort of sexual direction, then she’s going to need the assistance of alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

“So,” Theo says, sitting back on the sofa. “Tell me everything.”

“Pardon?”

“I want to hear about your hopes and dreams…the things you’ve always wanted to do but have never done.”

“Oh,” Héloïse says, surprised. No one has ever asked her this question before. Not even François, although, to be fair, he probably assumed that her work and their life together was everything she’d ever wanted. “I don’t really know. I suppose I’ve done everything now…But I saw the Dean at Newnham a few days ago. She offered me my position again, if I wanted it.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Yes.” Héloïse smiles. “It rather is.”

Theo sits forward, his fingers brushing hers. Héloïse flinches.

“Sorry,” she says softly. “It’s not…”

She glances down at Theo’s hand again, then back at his face, his mouth, his lips. Suddenly, she’s so overcome with the desire to kiss him that it terrifies her.

“It’s all right,” Theo says. “I’ll only touch you if you really want me to.”

“No,” Héloïse says, “I mean, yes, I do. It’s not, it’s just…it’s been a long time. A very long time.”

Theo nods but says nothing. Instead he watches Héloïse, his eyes soft and kind, waiting to see what she wants to do. They sit in silence as Héloïse gradually calms her heart. Then, very slowly and carefully, she picks up Theo’s hand, lifts it to her mouth, and kisses his fingers.

“Thank you,” Theo says. Then he leans forward until their noses are only an inch apart. And he waits, looking into Héloïse’s eyes until, at last, she closes her eyes and kisses him.

They sleep entwined, their bodies folded together, their breath encircling until two o’clock in the morning when Héloïse wakes with a start. She sits up in bed, blinking back tears in the dark, her heart beating hard in her chest. The nightmare is still slick on her skin and pulsing through her veins. It was a nightmare of blood and screaming, of grief and weeping, of birth and death.

—

Kat sits at her desk, fiddling with her pencils, staring absently at the infinite equations on her chalkboards, imagining what it will be like to hold her niece, the closest she’ll ever come to holding her own daughter. She’s often thought about adopting, but kept waiting in the hope that she might meet a man first, one who wanted to do it with her. Sometimes Kat wonders if it was the loss of their mother that made her and Cosi so keen to become mothers themselves, or if it’s simply biological. Of course, it was worse for Cosi, since at least Kat had her mother for twelve years, while Cosi didn’t have her at all.

There’s a knock at the door. Kat swears. She’d forgotten about her fortnightly thesis meetings with Hamish. He pushes his way through the door before she invites him in, as he always does.

“Hiya, Prof, what’s up?” Hamish asks, voice light and breezy as ever. The day of the carnation debacle, he decided to revert to the waiting and hoping method of seduction. “Ready to discuss the finer points of complex calculus?”

He flops down in his usual chair, long thin legs flung over the arm, feet sticking into the air, arms tucked behind his head in a way that isn’t quite as nonchalant as it was before.

Kat sighs. If it were any other student, she’d pull herself together, suppress her feelings for an hour, and get on with the business of teaching. But Kat has always considered Hamish as much of a friend as a student. And, as such, she does him the honor of telling him the truth.

“I’m afraid the finer points of calculus are pretty much the last thing on my mind at the moment.”

Hamish swings his legs to the floor and sits up, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “What’s up, Prof? Tell me all.”

“I’m going to be an aunt.”

“Hey.” Hamish grins. “That’s great. Congrats.”

Kat smiles, her spirits suddenly lifted by his infectious smile. “Thank you.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl. She’ll be called Aura.”

“Cute.”

“Yeah, it’s lovely.”

Hamish frowns. “Then why am I sensing a ‘but’ coming?”

Kat sighs again. For a moment she holds back, a little nervous to share such intimate details with someone who is still, technically, her student. Then, Kat finds that she doesn’t care. She wants to talk with someone about how she really feels. She’s sick of pretending with George and Cosi that everything’s okay, that she’s happy for them. But it isn’t okay, it’s horrible, heart-wrenchingly horrible.

“I can’t…I wanted kids too, but I’ve got a…condition. And, well, for a while—quite a long while—I was sort of in love with, well, um…the gay man who’ll be my niece’s father.”

“Bloody hell,” Hamish gasps, simultaneously horrified by her confession while delighted at her use of the past tense. “That’s a bit fucked up.”

There’s something in the way he says it, so simple and matter-of-fact, without telling her that everything will be okay. It’s refreshing to have someone be honest and direct, without frills. It’s a relief.

“Yes,” Kat says, the edge of a smile on her lips. “Yes, it is. Well and truly fucked up.”

Hamish nods. His favorite equation floats into his head:

It’s his safety blanket and he holds on tight. Then, with great effort, Hamish pushes it aside and musters all his strength.
It’s now or never. It’s your moment. Are you a man, or a mouse? Come on, you bloody coward, just do it!
Suddenly, Hamish leaps up from his chair, strides over to Kat’s desk, claps her cheeks between his palms, and kisses her full on the lips. When he pulls away, finally and reluctantly, Kat stares up at him in shock.

“What? What did you—why?”

Hamish shrugs, hoping that he doesn’t pass out right in front of her. “Well, I’ve wanted to do that ever since I met you. I was never sure if you’d appreciate it, but since there’s nothing I can do to help you out of your heartache right now, I thought I’d at least provide you with a little distraction.”

Kat smiles.

“There you go,” Hamish says, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and trying to calm his racing heart. “I didn’t do too bad.”

It’s a moment before Kat can reply. “I always thought you were just a little bit crazy.”

“Completely and utterly.” Hamish nods. “Mad as a hatter.”

The phone on Kat’s desk rings. They both ignore it.

“Madder.”

“But…it was okay?” Hamish ventures. “You didn’t mind too much?”

“No, actually…” she says, her words tinged with surprise. “I really rather liked it.”

“You did?” Needing to hold on to something solid, Hamish leans against the chair. “You did?”

Kat smiles and steps toward him. “Yes, I really did.”

The phone rings on.

“Maybe I should get that,” Kat says.

Hamish gives her a shrug and a smile.

“Hold on a sec,” she says, reaching across her desk to pick up. “Hello.”

“Kat? It’s George. I, oh…thank God you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Kat says, a flash of panic flaring in her chest. “What’s wrong?”

“She collapsed.”

The words catch in Kat’s throat. All she can hear is the blood thumping through her ears.

“We’re at the hospital now. Will you—?”

T
HE FUNERAL IS
held a week later, with all the witches in attendance, all wearing white, as had been Cosima’s wish. They sit, in a dilapidated row, in front of the coffin covered with lilies, dozens of white petals already floating to the floor before the service begins, as if in mourning along with the congregation.

Sitting next to Kat, Amandine slides her hand behind her friend’s shoulders, moving her fingers in tiny counterclockwise circles of eight, and mouths an incantation for the relief of grief. Next to Kat sits George, his eyes flitting around the church, looking everywhere except at the coffin and the vicar as he speaks about death and resurrection and hope.

“And now,” the vicar says, “George Benett, the father of Cosima’s daughter, will say a few words.”

Kat glances over at George, who’s staring at a row of flickering prayer candles, oblivious to the vicar’s words and everything else around him. She nudges him but he doesn’t respond. Kat glances over at Amandine.

“Why don’t you say something?” Amandine whispers.

Kat looks momentarily horrified, then nods. She stands and walks up to the pulpit. The vicar gives her a perplexed frown, but says nothing as Kat steps up.

“Hello everyone,” Kat says. She coughs. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I’ll try to think of something…I’m Cosi’s sister.” Kat glances down at the pew beneath her, checking on George, but he’s still gazing into the candle flames. Héloïse nods, an encouraging little smile on her lips. Amandine gazes at her and Noa gives Kat a thumbs-up.

“I spent most of my childhood resenting my sister, wishing she’d never been born,” Kat begins. “And then, one day, just recently, actually, I realized I loved her more than anyone in the world. I needed her. She balanced me. She was my, my…sister
.”

Kat looks out at the pews full of people sitting in rows in front of her. She wonders if she should sit back down. But then she realizes she doesn’t want to.

“Cosi loved to feed people,” Kat goes on. “When she was a little girl, I taught her how to bake. She filled our house with the smell of hope…and new life. She brought my—our—dad back from—back to life after Mum died. Cosi’s café was cherished by so many people. I’m guessing you all went—most of you were probably regular customers. She put so much love and magic into her baking. I bet you all had your favorite—” Kat tries to swallow her tears but she can’t.

“Pistachio cream croissants!” Noa shouts out.

Kat blinks, scanning the crowd for the perpetrator and sees Noa looking up at her, grinning.

Kat nods. “My favorite too.”

She looks out at the congregation again, blinking back her tears.

“Zucchini and caramelized onion pizza!” someone else shouts.

Kat sniffs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Tiramisu cheesecake!”

“Vanilla and elderflower brownies!”

“Cinnamon and nutmeg biscuits!”

“Spiced chocolate cake!”

Kat starts to smile. She looks out at the congregation, at their happy, memory-filled faces, the taste of Cosima’s baking still on their tongues, and feels her heart begin to lift.

“Passion fruit and pear cannoli!”

“Chocolate and pistachio cream cupcakes!” shouts Amandine.

“Dough twists dipped in Nutella!” Héloïse calls out.

Kat glances at George to see that he’s looking back at her, the tiny quiver of a smile on his lips.

—